What Is and What Changes
by RH Chello
Summary: There's something seriously wrong with his brother.


_Another story! Yay... ahem. I'm such a dork that I watched the same episode over and over until I got all the dialogue down... always have to do it the hard way. This fic took a lot of work so you better appreciate it! :P_

* * *

**What is and What Changes**

He's supposed to be reading. Studying. Because that's what a good college student who wants to graduate with top honors does. He studies and reads and lives for schoolwork and the chance to learn. Really. He should be studying. Should being the key word here.

Honestly, Sam is just plain bored with all this studying crap. That's all he's been doing for the past couple of months since his last break. Eat. Sleep. Study. Make out with Jess. And study some more while she goes and bakes him a batch of her chocolate chip cookies. When had his existence become so school-oriented?

Well, right now, Sam is tired of school and studying. He's been going at it for so long that all the words are jumbling in his head in confusing, miss-matched crossword puzzles and he can barely see straight. What he needs now is a barrel of coffee and a target painted on his wall so he can hurl this stupid book at it. With any luck, the spine will snap and he'll have an excuse to shut it away in the closet, never to be seen again. Until he needs to look up something, that is.

Sam's hand keeps straying towards his phone, a wheedling voice in his head urging him with such an inviting voice to shut the book and check some emails. That's right. Grab the nice, shiny cell phone. You know you want to. Go ahead and distract yourself. You deserve a break. Go on.

Before he knows it, the phone is in his hand and he's scanning the screen with his head propped on the other fist. He opens one addressed to "Sam Winchester," all official and business-like. It turns out to be nothing important, just an update on some beach party next week that he has no intention of attending. It isn't even the right season for that kind of thing, anyway. But, knowing Jess, he'll probably be breaking out the new swim trunks pretty soon.

The phone's screen changes in a flash of artificial light, declaring an incoming call. Sam perks up in his chair automatically. The caller ID says… Dean? Sam feels his brow pucker, a feeling close to worry wells in his gut. Dean would never call unless it was an emergency. He answers it before the first ring.

"Dean?"

"Sam?" he sounds urgent.

"What's goin' on?"

"I don't know. I don't know where I am,"

Something in Sam clunks like a cold stone. Genuine fear and concern blossoms, swirling around like a slushy ball of mud. It isn't a feeling Sam generally associates with dealing with all things related to his brother. But no matter his past aggressions, Dean is still his big brother. He's still family.

"What? What happened?"

"Well, the uh…"

Sam can hear the hesitation in Dean's voice. Oh God. All the worst scenarios announce themselves clearly and loudly in his head. Dean by the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. Dean beaten half to death by a bar thug and left to die in some dark alley. A car accident. A random mugging. Panic is just out of his frantic reach when everything screeches to a hard, squealing, rubber burning crash as Dean says, "The gin. It – uh… attacked me."

"The gin?" Sam almost feels guilty at how fast the concern is brushed aside to be replaced by annoyance and scorn. Almost. He's family, after all. Family can bring out the best and worst of you. "You're drinking gin?" But seriously. Come on.

"No, asshat, the gin! The scary creature, remember?" What the –? "Put its hand on me, and then I woke up… next to some hot chick,"

There is just a hint of disgust at his brother and some indignation on Carmen's behalf at Dean calling his girlfriend "some hot chick."

"Who, Carmen?" Sometimes, Sam doesn't even know why he bothers.

"Who?" Okay, now it's just getting ridiculous. But Sam soon has his answer.

"Dean, you're drunk," He really doesn't understand how he hadn't come to this conclusion any sooner. "You're drunk dialing me."

"I am not drunk. Quit screwin' around!" Sam is strangely amused at how openly outraged Dean sounds. He glances up at the LCD across the study. 12:53 pm California time.

"Look. It's late, alright? Just, get some sleep. And, uh. I'll… see you tomorrow, 'kay?" He ignores Dean's protests, and he's still calling Sam's name when he hangs up.

Sam huffs a disbelieving laugh and sets the cell down. There are times when it's hard to remember who the older brother of the family is. It's a shame Dad's military discipline hadn't rubbed off on Dean. With another sigh and a shake of his head to clear out any loser older brother thoughts, Sam slams the stupid law book shut with a satisfying _bam_.

"Hey Sam. There's a bed upstairs with your name on it. Gonna come claim it, or what?" Jess walks in wearing his favorite Smurfs T-shirt, her arms folded, an expectant look on her face. She stops just short of the desk. Shadows from the dim lighting make her eyes twinkle.

"Look at you," she chides. "You're exhausted. Come to bed,"

Sam lets himself be led upstairs, because, really, who can resist the demands of an angel? He settles down beside her and curls an arm around his girlfriend – fiancée, now, he thinks blissfully.

He must be more tired than originally thought; he's drifting off to slumber land before he knows it.

- - -

Sam hasn't seen Dean in a while, and he doesn't really feel like he even knows his own brother. So this weird, open familiarity, this new fondness is just a bit unnerving. Especially after seeing him full on embrace Jessica.

"Sammy!" Sam almost stops on his way around the car. _Sammy?_ Where did that come from? The look Dean gives him is so full of contentment and actual brotherly love. The only time he ever sees Dean this euphoric is when he's drunk. Sam looks down to find – Ah! Beer bottle. Some brand Sam hasn't heard of.

"Hey," He's just about to nudge Jess past the older man, but Dean isn't through.

"Look atcha! You're with Jessica. It's… I don't believe it," Dean gives a small laugh, almost to himself. Sam finds it a little… off.

"Yeah…"

"Where'd you guys come from?"

"We just flew in… from Califo –"

"California!" Dean bursts in. "Stanford, huh? Law school, I bet," Sam stares at his brother, frowning. How does Dean know that? Sam doesn't remember ever telling him.

Sam shakes his head with a scoff and, suddenly needing to change the subject, nods towards the bottle clutched loosely in Dean's fingers. "See you started off Mom's birthday with a bang, as usual," Sam knows it sounds condescending, but he can't help it. He glances up to see a surprised look on Dean's face.

"Wait. Mom's birthday? Tha – That's today?" Oh. Great. Can't believe this.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean. That's today. That's why we're here," He watches as Dean absorbs this. "Don't tell me you forgot,"

Dean starts to try to say something but cuts himself off with a swallow. He obviously did forget. Typical. Sam's eyes narrow. Dean's lucky it's Mom's birthday and Sam's head is still partially stuck in the clouds because Jess said yes, or he would most definitely be receiving hell. As it is, Sam hooks an arm around Jess and pushes past Dean and his bewildered face.

"Come on, Jess. Let's go say hi to Mom,"

- - -

The expression on Mom's face when they show her the engagement ring is just what Sam's been wishing for, and more. He takes the congratulations and hugs and the emotions that go with them and tucks them in to save for later. He wants to remember this moment. Mom's eyes glistening and sparkling with joy, Jess smiling so wide and happily, a blush spreading over her delicate cheeks. Beautiful. The elation of it all is tempered only by the absence of his father.

He just doesn't expect it when Dean comes over and claps his arm warmly. His broad grin rivals Jess', eyes twinkling madly.

"Congratulations, Sam. I'm really glad you're happy," Sam is surprised. Dean sounds so sincere. He sounds really, honestly, sincerely happy for Sam. Never, in all his life, has Sam ever though he'd see the day. That's why he's so wary of the strange moment; as if Dean will suddenly yell "psych!" and run off with Jess slung over his shoulder.

"Thank," he says, more than a little awkwardly. He gives his brother a look that he isn't sure Dean sees because his eyes slide past Sam to the corner of the restaurant. Quiet alarm makes an appearance on Dean's face as he shoves his way over to whatever it is he thinks he's seeing. And just like that, he stops and spins around, clearly confused.

Sam doesn't know what the hell is going on with his brother, but he isn't about to let him ruin the night. After a beat, he clears his throat and suggests they all continue with dinner. It's Mom's birthday; they should celebrate. Everyone agrees, chuckling nervously. A few blinks later, Dean rejoins them. There's a dazed, distracted look in his eyes for the rest of the evening, but Sam doesn't let it bother him. He's too happy to care about anything else but the fact that he's about to become a married man.

- - -

For someone who is the reputed black sheep of the family and an outsider even among relatives, Dean seems way too damn happy after tonight. He isn't even the one with the good news. Sam just doesn't understand what his brother is so happy about.

"… You're engaged. Let's go celebrate!" Sam turns to his brother, who has a ridiculously ecstatic grin spread across his face. Celebrate? Together? As in with Dean? That's it. Something is seriously wrong with his brother.

"Guys, could you excuse us? I just want to talk to my brother for a sec." Jess pauses to glance worriedly at Sam before leaving to chat animatedly with Carmen. He smiles softly at the women in reassurance. At least they get along. Then he beckons Dean into the living room with a quiet, "C'mere,"

"What?"

"Okay," he braces himself for what's sure to be a classic case of Winchester rage and stubbornness. "What's gotten into you?"

Dean simply stares at him, confusion folding his forehead. "What do you mean?"

Sam takes this as a sign from God that he is allowed to continue.

"I mean this whole warm, fuzzy ecstasy trip thing," How messed up is it when you know something's off because your brother's actually being nice? It made Sam sick at the implications.

"I'm just happy for you, Sammy," Dean grins brilliantly and leans forward to clap him on the shoulder, just like back at the restaurant. Sam scoffs before he can stop himself.

"Yeah. Right," He feels an unfamiliar tug at his gut at the sudden flash of hurt and uncertainty in Dean's eyes, but he plunges on. "That's another thing – since when do you call me 'Sammy?'" Dean looks like he's going to interrupt. "Dean, come one. We don't talk outside of holidays,"

Dean frowns.

"We don't?" Sam's jaw just about drops. Had Dean not been awake the last 25 years? "Well, we should!" Where the hell is this coming from? "I mean, you're my brother,"

"'You're my brother?'" Sam can hear the skepticism in his own voice. He ignores the defensive, "Yeah,"

"You know, that's what you said when you snaked my ATM card. Or when you bailed on my graduation. Or when you hooked up with Rachel Naive," Dean's face falls further with each accusation, and Sam almost feels bad for him. But then…

"Who?"

"Uh…" Sam huffs. If figures Dean wouldn't even remember something that had hurt Sam so much all those years ago. "My prom date. On… prom night,"

Dean pauses for a beat, as if this is the first time he's ever heard of the incident. He mutters something to himself that Sam doesn't quite catch.

"Well hey, man," he claps Sam's shoulder again. "I'm sorry about all that –" Don't sound all that sorry to me.

"No – Dean – look. It's alright, man. I just – you know. I'm not asking you to change. Just… uh… I don't know," Sam sticks on what he hopes is a suitably sympathetic expression. "Guess we just don't really have anything in common," Which, to tell the God awful truth, Sam doesn't really regret, much to his shame. But you can't miss what you've never had, right?

He steps around Dean, quite finished with this conversation, only to be stopped by his brother's voice.

"Yeah – wait – woah, woah. Yes we do. Yes we do," Sam recognizes the desperate relief in the huffing laugh that follows. He waits, watching quizzically. "What?"

"Hunting," Dean says, as if the word will fix this rift between them.

"Hunting?" Sam says, exasperated. His brother is being so random tonight. "I've never been hunting in my life, Dean,"

"Yeah… well," Sam has never seen his brother look so lost. "Then we should go it sometime. I think you'd be great at it," Sam doesn't know what to say to the strangle tone Dean uses, so he turns to leave with a parting, "Get some rest," because for whatever the reason, Dean wasn't right in the head at the moment. He should probably get some sleep. He'll be back to normal in the morning, and by then Sam will be on his way to the airport.

But there's still a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something is seriously wrong. Whatever his worries, they are all shooed away at the sight of Jess, standing there in all her shining glory.

God, he's so lucky to have her.

- - -

Jess is staring up at him; the look in her eyes is enough to make his knees weak. Some part of him still can't believe that's he's actually here standing next to her. He's actually going through with this. The warm sunshine feeling that exploded inside him earlier is still burning bright. He thinks he might even be high off it. Jess beams up at him and he knows she's riding off the same, euphoric feeling. She leans toward him for a kiss.

Sam dips his head to meat her halfway when she halts her movement and twists her head to look at something back across the aisle. Sam follows her gaze and jumps in surprise at the sudden proximity to a pair of familiar green-hazel eyes. Dean smirks at him mischievously. Then he sweeps Jess over his shoulder and races back through the church doors before anyone can do anything to stop him.

The problem is no one is there. Sam is standing alone in the church, gazing stricken at the door that is just about to swing shut. He spurs himself into action and rushes after his bride.

Suddenly, he's no longer in the church, but in the restaurant from Mom's birthday dinner. Dean stands in front of him wearing the same formal clothes he'd worn that night. Jess is nowhere to be found.

"Where's Jessica?" Sam demands. What kind of game does Dean think he's playing at?

Dean just smiles a sad sort of smile. "I'm happy for you, Sammy," Then he disappears behind another set of swinging doors.

"Wait! Come back!" Sam tears after him, but the doors slam shut with a muffled _thump._

Sam snaps awake.

He listens for a moment, positive that he's heard something. A burglar? Were they being robbed? He's listens more closely and pinpoints the quiet sound of nearly silent footsteps. Someone was downstairs.

Sam slides off the bed as quietly as he can so as to not wake or alarm Jess. There's a bat sitting leaning against the wall he passes. He realizes with a jolt that it used to be Dad's.

Sam pauses by the corner, hiding behind it, waiting for the intruder to walk by. He appears faster than Sam expects, but he's ready. He swings that bat as hard as he can straight at the shadow. He doesn't anticipate the trespasser being able to defend himself against a swinging bat. He grabs Sam by the arms, and the room whirls around in dizzying stripes. He comes crashing down to the floor with a whoosh of lost air. Sam gasps a breath and tightens his muscles in an attempt to hit back. A hair-raisingly recognizable chuckle rumbles in front of his face.

"That was so easy, I'm embarrassed for you," Dean gloats.

"Dean?" Relief leaves him weak. "What the hell're _you_ doing here?"

"Well I _was_ looking for a beer," Dean grasps his forearm to help him up. Sam takes a moment to get his breath back and look around. His eyes catch something in the dark.

"In the china cabinet?" The cabinet doors are wide open. Sam flips on the light switch for a better look. He freezes. "That's Mom's silver,"

"Sam –"

"Wait you – broke into the house? To steal Mom's silver?" Sam's voice raises a few livid notches. God, Dean, how could you fall so low?

"It's not what it looks like, okay? I – I didn't have a choice."

"Oh, really? Why? What's so _damn_ important that you've got to steal from your own mother?" Who the hell does that?

"You want the truth?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do,"

Dean hesitates, as if deliberating with himself what to give away and what to keep. Goddamnitt Dean, if you lie to me, I swear…

"I owe somebody money," he finally reveals, sounding resigned.

"Who?" Sam asks, unsure whether he really wants to know or not.

"A bookie," Dean exhales. "I – uh, lost big in a game. I can bring in the cash tonight."

Sam shakes his head. _God._ I don't believe this.

"I can't believe we're even related," he confesses, looking away.

"Sam, I'm sorry,"

Yeah. As if he hasn't heard that before. He's been able to forgive Dean until now. But this? Breaking into your _mother's_ house and _stealing_ from her? All so you can pay back a gambling debt? Sam's through with forgiveness. All it does is give people more permission to walk all over you. Again and again and again.

"I'm sorry that we don't get along," Dean is still talking, but his defeated tone catches Sam's attention. "And I wish to hell I could stay and fix it. But I gotta do this. People's lives depend on it," Dean bends down to pick out a single silver knife from the rack.

"What're you talking about, Dean?" Sam turns back to face him entirely. Fear pulls at his heart. What is going on with his brother?

Dean shoots him an unreadable look that makes Sam feel completely shut out and turns the man before him into a sudden stranger. "Nothing," Even the quality of his voice suggests that nothing's wrong, but now Sam knows for sure that it is otherwise. "Forget it. Just, uh… hey tell Mom I love 'er,"

Raucous, earsplitting alarms shoot off violently in his head. "Dean,"

But Dean is already halfway out the door. Sam is struck with the longing in his face as he gives the house one last look. As if he'll never see it again.

The door clicks gently closed. The finality of the sound resonates thunderously in Sam's ears.

- - -

All Sam can do is stand there, in the middle of the hallway, a frozen statue. He can't comprehend what just happened. What just happened? Dean broke into the house. Okay. Rambled on about owing money and… saving lives? Then he just left with a mixed look of acceptance, resolve, and an air of melancholy. He left as if he were saying goodbye for the last time.

Sam is snapped out of his stupor by the distant creak of Dean's car door opening and screeching shut. He knows what do to know. He's made his decision.

The cold hits him like an icy wave, but he stomps out toward the black silhouette stalling in the rain with a feeling purpose. He can see Dean sitting in the driver's seat staring at nothing, lost in thought. Better not be thinking too hard; he could pull something.

Sam slips into the passenger seat, ignoring the annoyed stare trained on the top of his head.

"Get out of the car,"

"I'm going with you,"

"You're just gonna slow me down,"

"Tough,"

"This is dangerous and you could get hurt –"

"Yeah and so could you, Dean,"

"Sam –"

"Look. Whatever stupid thing you're about to do, you're not doing it alone. And that's that." Sometimes, Sam absolutely loves his Winchester stubbornness. Too bad Dean doesn't appreciate it at the moment.

"I don't understand. Why're you doing this?"

Sam turns from Dean to look out the windshield. "Because… you're still my brother," he says almost reluctantly.

There's pause.

"Bitch,"

Sam snaps his eyes back to Dean. "Wha – what're you calling me a bitch for?" After everything I'm doing for you here, too.

"You're supposed to say… jerk…" Dean trails off.

"What?"

"Never mind,"

From the angry, contemplative look Dean gives him, Sam gets the sense that somehow, he doesn't match up to whatever expectations his brother has made of him. It is enough to make him feel incompetent, for some reason.

- - -

Dean's been driving through the rain for almost an hour before Sam's curiosity gets the better of him.

"What's in the bag?"

"Nothin',"

"Nothin'?"

"Yeah. Nothin',"

"Fine," Sam reached into the brown paper bag sitting between them and pulled out a plastic container bottle.

"You don't wanna do that,"

"Oh really?" His nonchalant attitude is cut away the instant he catches sight of what is inside the container. A thick scarlet liquid sloshes inside… Oh my God… "What the hell is this?"

"Blood," Dean says it as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have a bottle of blood sitting in your car.

"Yeah, I can see that it's blood, Dean. What the hell is it doing here?"

"You don't really want to know," Sam is getting real tired of this need-to-know crap Dean is pulling right now. He'd like to know what exactly he's getting himself into. _Blood in the car…_

"No, I do. I do really want to know. I really, really do,"

"Well, you're gonna find out sooner or later. I needed a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood,"

Oh. Of course. How silly of me. "You needed a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood, why?"

"'Cause there's this creature – a djinn. And I have to hunt it,"

"Okay… um. Stop the car," Dean's gone insane. I've got a psycho for a brother. This night just keeps getting better and better.

"I know how it sounds,"

"Great. Just… stop the car,"

"It's true, Sam. Alright? There are things…" Dean is still talking, but all Sam could think of is the blood in the car and Dean going crazy and the fact that he has no idea where he's driving them.

"I want to help you, okay? I really, really do. But you're having some kind of… psychotic breakdown, so –" He has his phone out, his fingers pressing random buttons because he has no idea what he's doing anymore. It's like he was on autopilot.

He hears Dean mutter, "I wish," before his cell is yanked from his loose grip and chucked out the window.

"What the hell was that, Dean?" Sam yells. "That was my phone!" It cost me a lot of money!

"I'm not goin' to a rubber room, Sammy. And we got work to do,"

"I was just trying to help you out, Dean! I don't want you to get yourself hurt!"

"What – you protect me?"

"Yeah!" Sam thinks he's being pretty noble, here, humoring his degenerate-turned-psycho brother.

Dean actually _laughs_ at him.

"That's hilarious. Why don't you just sit tight. Try not to get us both killed."

- - -

As he follows Dean through the creepy hallways of the abandoned warehouse, Sam gets an uncomfortable feeling that his brother has done this before and actually knows what he is doing. Whatever it is that he's was doing here. He's searching for something, darting around with his flashlight with a quiet efficiency that reminds Sam of Dad. But there isn't anything here but old rust and grime. Sam just wants to get out of here.

"See? There's nothing here, Dean. Look. Carmen's got to be worried sick about you, Dean. Le-let's just go," He curses the stutter that betrays just how terrified he is.

Dean silences him quickly, "Shhhhh!"

They turn a corner and Sam realizes with a sinking feeling of his gut that there's someone there. "Stay behind me and keep your mouth shut," Dean warns with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

There, in the middle of the huge room, a girl is handing limply by her hands. Her eyes are half open and it looks like she's been there for days. How could anyone do this to a helpless girl?

"It's her," Dean murmurs in awe.

"Dean, what's goin' on?"

Steps echo through the room, coming from above the stairs. Dean quickly yanks Sam back by the scruff of his jacket to hide beneath said stairs.

A man ambles down the steps, dressed in heavy, moth-eaten robes. As he enters the light of the overhanging bulb, Sam can see the blue tattoos drawing maps across what must be his entire body. He's hypnotized by this freak hiding in a warehouse. Then the man plucks an IV from the small bag hanging beside the girl and sprays the liquid into his mouth. Too late, Sam realizes that the liquid is blood. _He's drinking blood_.

Sam can't help the disgusted gasp that escapes him. He's rewarded with a rough cuff round the head and another yank backward from Dean before the thing whirls around and stalks toward the bottom of the stairs. Dean keeps his hand painfully tight over Sam's mouth until the man walks jerkily back up the stairs. Now it's just Sam, Dean, the comatose girl, and some more dead, decaying bodies Sam now notices further into the room.

Dean creeps closer to the girl.

"This is real?" Sam whispers. "You're not crazy?"

Dean doesn't seem to hear him. "She didn't know where she was. She thought she was with her father…" He is speaking mostly to himself. "What if that's what the djinn does? It doesn't grant a wish. It… it makes you think it has."

Dean is babbling on about gibberish – something Sam has no patience for right now.

"Look man, that thing could come back, alright?" Oh God. He was so scared. He'd never been more terrified in his life. God… he'd just seen a… a _thing_ drink someone's blood. They have to get out of here. They have to get out of here _now_. "Dean? Please."

But Dean isn't listening.

"What if I'm like her? What if I'm tied up in here someplace? What if all this is in my head?"

"Dean?" Sam is really worried now. "Dean, come on, man. We gotta get out of here,"

"Maybe it could…" Apparently, Dean still isn't paying attention. "You know. Maybe it gives us some kind of supernatural acid then just feeds on us slow." Sam can barely believe what he's hearing, but Dean sounds almost… betrayed and intense.

"No." This can't be happening. "Dean. That doesn't make sense, okay?" Nothing makes sense after what he's just witnessed.

"What if that's why she keeps appearing to me? She's not a spirit. It's like more and more, I'm catching flashes of reality. You know, like, I'm in here somewhere – I'm catatonic – and I'm taking all this stuff in, but I – but I can't snap out of it!"

Okay. This isn't working. Sam tries a different approach.

"Yeah, okay. Look, yeah, yeah, yeah," Sam rushes through the words frantically, feeling as if he's running out of time. "You're right, you're right. I was wrong, you're not crazy. But we – we need to get out of here. Fast."

He pulls at Dean, fully intending to drag his idiot brother out of this hell hole and all this insanity. Dean resists, yanking his arm back as if burned. The look in his eyes as he glares at Sam is wary and suspicious.

"I don't think you're real," he says softly. It send spider chills up Sam's spine. Sam pushes his uneasiness away and exhales impatiently. He grabs Dean roughly by the shoulders and shakes him, like somehow; he can force reason into him.

"Dean, you feel that? You feel this? I'm real. This is not an acid trip. I'm real. And that thing is going to go down here and kill us for real. Now, please,"

"There's one way to be sure," Dean says hoarsely. Suddenly, the silver knife from earlier appears in his hand. It glints eerily in the weak lamp light.

"Whoa. Whoa-whoa," The knife waves in his direction. Sam eyes it cautiously. His mind is frozen. "What're you doing?"

"It's an old wife's tale – if you're about to die in a dream, you wake up,"

_What! _No, no. Oh no.

"No-no-no-no. That's crazy, alright?"

"Maybe,"

"You're gonna kill yourse –" The knife makes short lunge at Sam. He raises his arms in a "I'm not going to hurt you" gesture. "Okay…"

"Or I'm gonna wake up. One or the other," God, Dean. Don't do this.

"Look. This isn't a dream, alright? I'm here. With you. Now. And you are about to kill yourself, Dean," Please. Please. Please.

"No," Oh God, Dean's going to kill himself. His _brother _is going to kill himself. In front of him. "I'm pretty sure… like… 90 percent sure," This can't be happening. "But I'm sure enough,"

Goddamnitt, NO!

The knife slices upward. Dean's face is so, so hard. He bares his teeth and jerks the knife down.

"Wait! Dean!"

- - -

"_Dean! Dean… Dean! Oh God. Come on… hey. Wake up. Wake up, Damnitt… hey. Hey."_

"_Auntie Em… There's no place like home,"_

_

* * *

Yeesh. It was so hard to stay in present tense. I kept reverting back to past... Review!!_


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